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applecameronTitle: "Going On, Intermission"
Author: Apple Cameron, September 2004
Fandom: Angel, the series
Pairing: Angel/Wes
Keywords: Wes Lives!
Spoilers: post-series finale
Dedication: The Versaphile Birthday Project 2004
First it was Motley Crue, then the Beatles. Now something called Smashing Pumpkins. Though, when that one was in the wash, once, he'd seen her in some midriff-baring thing that said 'Princess' across the front in sparkly pink. Given the strength of a Slayer, Wes refrained from comment at the time. Though, he did tell Angel. Who told Spike. Who, if he recalled correctly, had a particularly strenuous workout that day.
Wes was shaving, watching in the mirror as his bodyguard, nurse (a capacity in which he needed her far too often), etc., made the bed. She changed everything once a week with deadly seriousness. It was appalling, come to think of it.
"You're going to nick yourself, if you keep not paying attention, sir." As soon as she said that, he did, with a muttered curse. Don't slit your own throat, you git. You've only got, what, four lives left?
"You don't have to call me 'sir' every five minutes, you know." Angel had been elsewhere when he woke, and Wes was acutely aware that the absence made him borderline irritable.
She was folding sheets. "Discipline can be a good thing, you know." Then replacing the blanket. "Keep the lines of command nice and clear."
"Oy!" Came a voice from outside the room. "Tell His Majesty Red's here. She's got that handy spell of hers cast."
"Yeah?"
But Spike was already gone.
Wes patted his face and exited the bathroom, handing her the towel as he did so. She went in for the rest, gathering them up into a bundle under one arm.
"Was that--"
"Yeah. Names out, sir. Smoke 'em if you got 'em."
And she'll still call me 'sir'. "You do have a name, don't you?"
The bathroom teardown stopped for a second, and two little fists went on the girl's hips, reminding Wes alarmingly of Buffy for a moment. "Yeah." She looked up, then down. "But if you know it, you might say it when you shouldn't. And then where will we be?"
"Summoned into a pentagram in a basement of the closest --."
"Exactly."
"They don't even know you know me."
"Someday they might."
This wasn't the first time they'd had a conversation like this one. "You're a hard woman." Wes picked up the stack of papers that were among the few things that never left his sight.
"That's why Faith assigned me to you." She resumed bustling. "I was going career military before the Slayer thing kicked in, you know. Army nurse, all the way. It's tradition in my family."
It fit her, oddly, like the rock group t-shirts.
"And now?"
"Well, the dress uniform's better." Everything got dumped into a hotel services cart right outside the door, and she pushed it as they walked down the hall. Wes had leased this building through a half-dozen dummy companies, it was magically purged regularly, and they'd still leave before summer. "And I can dye my hair any color I want."
"Should I start calling you 'Pink'?"
Spike materialized from the stairwell, exhaling cigarette smoke. "Naw. Blue's more your color."
There was a morning meeting in the conference room, which was why Willow had come. A rare appearance for something other than saving their lives trying to close the door to some hell dimension somewhere. Buffy was starting to push back. Angel had been right that first night. Their agendas only ran in parallel every second Tuesday. The rest of the time, it was like pulling teeth.
And there he was. Wes stepped up the pace and didn't stop, almost throwing himself into Angel's arms. Spike and 'Blue' veered off politely. If she was Wes's bodyguard, Spike was definitely Angel's.
Lips met and he forgot all that for a precious, precious sliver of time.
Then pulled back. "Hello, Angel."
To get an electric charge from something so simple as saying a loved one's name. It was almost worth it.
"Morning, Wes."
Even better.
Author: Apple Cameron, September 2004
Fandom: Angel, the series
Pairing: Angel/Wes
Keywords: Wes Lives!
Spoilers: post-series finale
Dedication: The Versaphile Birthday Project 2004
First it was Motley Crue, then the Beatles. Now something called Smashing Pumpkins. Though, when that one was in the wash, once, he'd seen her in some midriff-baring thing that said 'Princess' across the front in sparkly pink. Given the strength of a Slayer, Wes refrained from comment at the time. Though, he did tell Angel. Who told Spike. Who, if he recalled correctly, had a particularly strenuous workout that day.
Wes was shaving, watching in the mirror as his bodyguard, nurse (a capacity in which he needed her far too often), etc., made the bed. She changed everything once a week with deadly seriousness. It was appalling, come to think of it.
"You're going to nick yourself, if you keep not paying attention, sir." As soon as she said that, he did, with a muttered curse. Don't slit your own throat, you git. You've only got, what, four lives left?
"You don't have to call me 'sir' every five minutes, you know." Angel had been elsewhere when he woke, and Wes was acutely aware that the absence made him borderline irritable.
She was folding sheets. "Discipline can be a good thing, you know." Then replacing the blanket. "Keep the lines of command nice and clear."
"Oy!" Came a voice from outside the room. "Tell His Majesty Red's here. She's got that handy spell of hers cast."
"Yeah?"
But Spike was already gone.
Wes patted his face and exited the bathroom, handing her the towel as he did so. She went in for the rest, gathering them up into a bundle under one arm.
"Was that--"
"Yeah. Names out, sir. Smoke 'em if you got 'em."
And she'll still call me 'sir'. "You do have a name, don't you?"
The bathroom teardown stopped for a second, and two little fists went on the girl's hips, reminding Wes alarmingly of Buffy for a moment. "Yeah." She looked up, then down. "But if you know it, you might say it when you shouldn't. And then where will we be?"
"Summoned into a pentagram in a basement of the closest --."
"Exactly."
"They don't even know you know me."
"Someday they might."
This wasn't the first time they'd had a conversation like this one. "You're a hard woman." Wes picked up the stack of papers that were among the few things that never left his sight.
"That's why Faith assigned me to you." She resumed bustling. "I was going career military before the Slayer thing kicked in, you know. Army nurse, all the way. It's tradition in my family."
It fit her, oddly, like the rock group t-shirts.
"And now?"
"Well, the dress uniform's better." Everything got dumped into a hotel services cart right outside the door, and she pushed it as they walked down the hall. Wes had leased this building through a half-dozen dummy companies, it was magically purged regularly, and they'd still leave before summer. "And I can dye my hair any color I want."
"Should I start calling you 'Pink'?"
Spike materialized from the stairwell, exhaling cigarette smoke. "Naw. Blue's more your color."
There was a morning meeting in the conference room, which was why Willow had come. A rare appearance for something other than saving their lives trying to close the door to some hell dimension somewhere. Buffy was starting to push back. Angel had been right that first night. Their agendas only ran in parallel every second Tuesday. The rest of the time, it was like pulling teeth.
And there he was. Wes stepped up the pace and didn't stop, almost throwing himself into Angel's arms. Spike and 'Blue' veered off politely. If she was Wes's bodyguard, Spike was definitely Angel's.
Lips met and he forgot all that for a precious, precious sliver of time.
Then pulled back. "Hello, Angel."
To get an electric charge from something so simple as saying a loved one's name. It was almost worth it.
"Morning, Wes."
Even better.
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no subject
on 2004-09-13 01:50 am (UTC)Hmm, conflict between the two camps, eh? Who's on the other side with Buffy?
no subject
on 2004-09-13 02:27 am (UTC)no subject
on 2004-09-13 02:44 am (UTC)